Where You Tend a Rose
by Lavender Leo
Summary: After getting out of jail, Mr. Gold finds Moe French in the hospital and demands answers - one of which will change everything.
1. Chapter 1

_"Where you tend a rose, a thistle cannot grow." - Colin, The Secret Garden_

**One**

Moe French was just coming around when the unexpected visitor appeared in the doorway of his hospital room. The corpulent florist's eyes widened with fear. It was was the man who'd put him here in the first place – none other than that shady shopkeeper, Mr. Gold.

"Knock, knock," the scarecrow of a man smiled. "Do you mind if I come in? No, of course you don't," he answered himself, "I'm the only visitor you've had."

"Get out of here. I'll call the police." Moe's thick fingers fumbled for the call button, but Mr. Gold tisked and shook his head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. See, I've just gotten out of jail, whereas, if you're well enough to sit up and make that call, you're well enough to sit in a cell yourself," the strange man pointed out.

The florist frowned and put down the pager. "What do you want?"

"I've come to offer you a deal," Mr. Gold informed him, hobbling closer on his cane, until he was at Moe's bedside.

"I don't have what you want."

"Oh, I know you don't have _that_. I know who had it, and I got it back," Mr. Gold dismissed, knowing the chipped cup in question was now locked safely in his vault. "_This_ deal has two parts, and only one of them involves an object. This time, it's an object _you_ want." When the heavyset man looked confused, he clarified, "Your truck."

"You'd give me my truck back?" Moe asked warily.

"Not give. _Trade_. And that's not the entire deal," Mr. Gold explained. "If you want the deal, the first part is that neither of us files charges. I won't press charges against you for stealing my property, and you won't press charges against me for assault. A perfectly even trade, don't you think?"

That got his attention. "What's the second part?"

"The second part is, you provide me with some information. Answers to questions I have, that only you would know. If your information is to my satisfaction, I'll give you the title to the truck and cancel your debt in full." Mr. Gold knew such an offer was too tempting to pass up. That's why he had made it.

Still, the injured man was reluctant. "And if it isn't?"

"You go back to your life exactly as it was," Mr. Gold said simply. "You'll still owe me, but you'll be a free man. Either way, you win."

After a minute's hesitation, Moe nodded.

"Is it a deal, then?"

"It's a deal," Mr. French agreed. "What do you want to know?"

Mr. Gold averted his gaze, stared at the bed railing instead of the man he hated. "Everything there is to know about your daughter. The one you murdered."

"Mur-" Moe's mouth couldn't even process the word. "Listen here, Mr. Gold; I did _not_ kill my daughter!"

"You may as well have. You hurt her so badly she killed _herself_ to get away from you!" Mr. Gold accused, eyes flashing dangerously.

"That's not true. You've got it all wrong!"

"Oh, I think not," the lame-legged man growled, leaning closer. "And if you want your truck back – your _life_ back – you'd better start talking. Start with where you buried her."

"She's not dead!" Moe insisted. "I don't know who told you that, but it's a lie. She's alive and I can prove it."

"Alive?" The thin, long-haired man's fingers gripped his cane so tightly they turned white. His face blanched with pure shock. "She's alive? Where?" When Mr. French hesitated, he bared his teeth like a feral dog and gripped the front of his hospital gown. "Dammit, I said, _where_?"

"About four floors straight down from where we're standing," the portly man replied fearfully. "In the sanitorium."

When Mr. Gold spoke again, it was in a venomously low whisper. "You had her _committed_?"

"Rose tried to kill herself, more than once," Moe explained, barely noticing Mr. Gold's mouth as it framed her name in silence. "I couldn't run the business and keep an eye on her. She needed professional help!"

"She _needed_ a father who treated her with decency," Mr. Gold reprimanded. "What did you do to her? Huh? What did you do that was so bad she couldn't face another day on this earth? Did you hit her?" His voice grew menacingly quiet. "You didn't just hit her, did you?"

Mr. French didn't have to speak. The answer was written all over his face, colored with shame.

Mr. Gold's brown eyes squeezed shut, vainly attempting to block out the horror of what the girl must have endured. "I want to see her."

"No one is allowed in the sanitorium, not even me!" Moe started. "I haven't been allowed down there since I signed the papers three years ago."

"Perhaps you're not aware that I own the controlling share of this hospital. They'll let _me_ in. Which is why I'm going to get the documents, and then you're going to sign over her power of attorney to me." When French seemed reluctant, the other man leaned down to his ear. "You'll do it, you filthy swine, or I swear to you, I'll make you sorry you survived."

*LL*

_A/N: It seems there was another story called "Heart of Gold" posted a day before mine, with a similar theme, so I've respectfully changed my title. Any similarity between the stories is purely unintentional. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or any characters you recognize. I'm just playing with them because it's fun and I love them – especially Mr. Gold. XD And the Secret Garden quote has been marked as such - I don't own that either. Obviously._


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Rose huddled in the corner, head down. There was nothing else to do. Today was the same as every day, without variation. Faintly, she recalled a time when she wasn't in the dungeon – as she had come to think of these four dark walls with only an iron grate leading up into the hospital for light and a slab with a mattress for a bed – but lately, she had no desire to dwell on it. _Lately_ was all she could have said about the time, for time disappeared in this place; days and nights ran together, indistinguishable, unable to be counted. Months could have passed, although it felt more like years. She wasn't sure how many.

Before, she'd just turned eighteen. Everyone else in Storybrooke seemed to have a plan – college, job, marriage even – but not her. And it was because of her father. Everything was because of him. He put her into her first prison, the one called _home_, and then he put her into this one. After a while, she came to realize that as bad as this place was, the other one had been worse.

Memories came and went. She didn't encourage them to stay. What was the use in remembering a childhood unlived, cooped up at home, unable to have a social life or join any sports or activities at school? Her books had been her only friends in that awful house; her mind, her only means of escape.

But as dreadful as being trapped and hidden from the world had been, Rose had endured something far more terrible, something no one had known about the one they called 'the weird girl.' The first time her father came into her room, she'd told herself it was only a bad dream. But that nightmare repeated, again and again, until she would have done anything to be free of it. Until dreams from books couldn't erase the horror of the way she'd been touched, and struck when she fought back. Until the only escape she could see lay in pills, or razor blades, or the last time, a kitchen knife.

The knife had gotten her thrown in here – literally, in fact, by that mannequin of a nurse with the ice-cream rolled hair – and from here, there was no escape. The only occurrences of any note were the occasional cold shower to keep her clean, monitored closely by an orderly, and the rare times when she saw a face other than the nurse's or the orderly's peering in at her. The other woman had come only twice – once, a long time ago, and once more recently – another cruel beauty, like the nurse, with eyes sharp and unfriendly as thorns. Who she was, Rose didn't know. She supposed it didn't matter.

Then, she heard the sounds. A man's voice, unfamiliar, with an odd accent, arguing heatedly with the nurse. Another woman's voice, steadier but just as insistent. The angry clacking of the nurse's shoes as she came closer, and other footsteps following behind. Rose cringed as the door unlocked and swung inward, revealing two people she'd never seen in her life – one a pretty blonde woman with a no-nonsense face, the other a curious man with long sandy-brown hair and a cane. Hook-nosed, rail-thin and barely average height, he was a far cry from the porcelain perfection of her only other visitors in the cell. It almost relieved her.

The blonde woman looked around her dungeon, aghast. "This is a psych ward? Even prisons don't look this bad," she remarked.

"It meets regulations," the stern nurse argued coldly.

"The hell it does." When the man spoke, his voice was level, but held an unspeakable fury just beneath the surface. His eyes locked with Rose's for a moment, and she saw a deep sadness in them, before he turned with vitriol on the nurse. "As soon as I can arrange it, this place is going to be sealed off and the patients transferred somewhere fit for human beings. In the meantime, you, madam, need to look for other employment."

"I beg your pardon?" the nurse said through tight lips.

He leaned forward menacingly. "You're _fired_."

The icy woman narrowed her eyes. "You can't fire me!"

"I just did. Now get out."

The nurse stomped away, and the blonde woman started to come closer. Rose flinched. The man held an arm up to the blonde, and murmured, "Can I have a moment?"

Pursing her lips, the woman nodded. "Of course."

The long-haired man limped forward, clearly needing the cane for more than show, although his tailored suit indicated that he was wealthy enough to afford the best care. When she drew back a little, one of his hands went up in front of him; a gesture of surrender. "Don't be afraid. I've not come to hurt you."

Could she still speak? She wasn't sure. "Who are you?" she rasped, her voice hoarse due to long unuse.

"A friend," he answered without hesitation. His voice was so warm, she almost believed it. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"

Rose shook her head. "Should I?"

"I suppose not." He tucked his chin to his chest, disappearing for a moment behind his hair. "I've come to have you taken out of this – this _dungeon_."

Her eyes widened with the first hope she could remember feeling in her life. "You mean I'm – I'm _free_?"

"Not exactly," he said. His peculiar countenance was vexed, but not with her; his eyes were looking off, thinking of someone else. "Not yet. But I'm doing everything I can to make that happen."

"Then where am I going?" she asked worriedly.

"There's a clinic closeby. It's nothing grand, but you'll be allowed company and to go outside in the fresh air." He met her eye again, his own suddenly weary, and forlorn. It seemed as though he'd seen as much sorrow in his life as she had in hers – perhaps more.

"Outside?" Rose echoed. Who was this man, and why was he being so kind to her? He seemed so familiar… and yet, not at all. She stirred up from her bed, such as it was, and moved slowly towards him. "How is it we know each other? I wish I could remember."

"Maybe one day soon, you will," he murmured, as though it were his dearest hope. "For now, can we make a new start?"

"I'd like that." She outstretched her hand. "I'm Rose."

"Rose. That's a beautiful name." He took her hand as though it were the most delicate of china, that could be easily broken. His hand warmed her icy-cold fingers as it grasped them. "I'm Mr. Gold." He stopped himself, squeezing his eyes shut as though self-scolding. "Douglas," he corrected, giving her his first name.

"Douglas," she repeated, committing it to memory. She squeezed his hand in both of hers. "Thank you."

A touched breath escaped him before he could prevent it. His eyes fluttered shut. "No thanks necessary, dearie," he told her, clearly overwhelmed. "I'm only sorry I can't do more."

"We need to get her out of here," the blonde woman said then.

"I know," Mr. Gold nodded. "Go, then." He let go of her hands and stepped back, watching with haunted eyes as the woman took her by one arm.

"Wait!" Rose spoke up. "Will I see you again?"

"Nothing on this earth could keep me away," he promised. He followed them to the elevator, where an orderly met them and took Rose, who was shielding her eyes from the painful light.

"I didn't even know this place existed," Emma said once Rose had been escorted up to the main floor and out of the hospital.

"Neither did I. I don't think anyone did," Mr. Gold muttered. "She'll regret this."

Emma cocked an eyebrow. "Who will regret what?"

The man with the cane rolled his eyes at the sheriff. "Who is usually responsible for anything in this town that needs regretting?"

"Point taken," Emma relented, "but what could the mayor possibly have to do with putting a florist's daughter in solitary confinement?"

"One of these days, Miss Swan, you're going to see how everything is connected to everything else here," Mr. Gold condescendingly informed her. "I only hope I'm there to see the look on your face when you figure it out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

Even if he'd had his magic in this world, the arrangements couldn't have been made much faster. Mr. Gold had seen to all the necessities – some decent yet comfortable clothes for the girl, bi-weekly therapy sessions, a private room paid in advance for the next month at the long-term care clinic, even a few personal touches so the room wouldn't feel so utilitarian. It was only a beginning, but for now, it would have to do.

Only a licensed psychotherapist could declare Rose fit to re-enter society. That meant, of course, that Archie Hopper was the key to setting his beloved completely free. At one time, that might have vexed Mr. Gold, but no longer. Now that the good doctor had bucked off the mayor's bit and harness, he had no qualms whatsoever about leaving Rose in his care.

_Nothing on this earth could keep me away_. Except concern for Rose's well-being, he amended privately, unlocking his house and staggering into bed fully dressed. Until he could face her with a modicum of self-control, he knew he had to stay away, so she could recover in peace.

He ran his face between his thin hands, wiping away the utter shock of finding his true love among the living. As much as he'd have liked to let his heart run away with him, though, this was no time for being sentimental. There were practical matters to consider. Matters involving that heinous witch Regina Mills.

She knew, of course. She knew Belle was alive in the other world, just as she'd known she was alive in this one. Like a game-winning ace, she'd kept her tucked firmly up her sleeve, letting the poor girl rot away in a cell without daylight or companionship – no doubt waiting for the right moment to play her trump card.

In the other world, he'd at least had his wits about him enough to find out for himself what had become of Belle. The Queen's story checked out, or so he'd thought – Belle _had_ been locked in a tower and scourged by so-called 'holy' men, for declaring that the Dark One was her friend. It sickened him, that she should have suffered and wanted to die on his account. Even worse was the thought that he might have prevented it. The Queen had already accosted Belle once, and the girl's life among her family and community had been one of misery. Why hadn't he realized that, one way or the other, dismissing her from his castle meant throwing her out of the kettle and into the fire?

Mr. Gold shut his eyes and tightened his jaw, reminding himself to strategize. There was no use lying here berating himself over past failures. That wasn't going to help anyone. When he finally relaxed enough to fade into sleep, his dreams were torture enough.

*LL*

_Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk_. The noise insistently repeated, forcing Mr. Gold's eyes open. Irritated, he stirred, feeling as though he was hung over. He growled at whoever had the audacity to disturb him here, and hobbled towards the door. His face turned even more sour when he saw the person waiting impatiently behind it. "Well, well, well. Madam Mayor. Bit early for a visit, don't you think?"

"It's after eleven," Regina pointed out acridly, holding up her wristwatch as evidence. "You weren't at your shop."

"I _do_ own it. I've a right to close up and sleep in when I please," came his riposte. "What could be so urgent that you had to come banging on my door?"

The mayor arched her chin. "Let me in, and I'll tell you."

"I'd rather not. I'm, as you know, a private man," Mr. Gold replied evenly, "and very protective when it comes to my property. I don't like anyone else touching what belongs to me."

Regina's eyes narrowed. She caught his double meaning. "Fine. Be at the diner in fifteen minutes and we'll talk there."

The diner was the most public hangout in Storybrooke and it was nearly lunchtime, guaranteeing a crowd. Good, he thought quickly. Neutral territory. He changed into another suit and headed out.

When he slid into the booth across from Regina, she was angrily stirring sugar into a cup of coffee. It seemed ironic that she would enjoy anything sweet. "So, what's on your mind?" he asked directly, folding his hands and trying not to gloat too strongly.

"You fired Anna Stacy, a highly qualified and hardworking nurse, and you're threatening to close off an entire wing of the hospital. Of which I'm on the board," the mayor related.

"The board of which I'm chairman," he reminded her. "Have you seen that wing lately?"

"Very recently, in fact," Regina said archly. "Last time I checked, it was missing a patient."

"How do you know that, I wonder? Do you have them electronically tagged?" Mr. Gold smirked.

"Cut the crap," she flatly replied. "I know you have her."

"Have who?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"You know who," Regina muttered. "Your former… _housekeeper_."

Mr. Gold narrowed his eyes. "And how would that be possible? I had it on good authority that my housekeeper passed away, years ago. Unless I was wrongly informed."

The mayor sneered at him. "So that's how you want to play? Fine. I guess we have nothing further to discuss. I'll take my lunch to go." When she stood and grabbed her leather purse, the long-haired man halted her with his cane.

"Oh, I'm not _playing_," he remarked icily. "Games are your specialty, not mine. And this one is over."

Regina pushed his cane off of her. "Threatening me with an assault weapon?"

"I would never threaten _you_," he smiled, revealing the gold on one of his teeth; meaning, of course, he'd never give her fair warning. He lowered his cane, reveling in the fact that, for the moment, he had her stumped. "Enjoy your lunch."

*LL*

_A/N: Anna Stacy = Anastasia, one of the two wicked stepsisters. ;)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

For three days and nights, Rose waited impatiently for Mr. Gold to come. She desperately wanted to thank him for getting her out of that awful place. More importantly, she wanted to put to rest the mystery surrounding their relationship. Just who _was_ he to her? A long-lost uncle? A family friend? Whoever he was, he cared for her, deeply. That much was certain. Even the best actor's eyes couldn't have faked such affection and concern. But how could she feel such familiarity for, and be defended with such devotion by, a man of whom she had absolutely no memory? The question gnawed relentlessly at her mind. Struggle as she might, however, the answer would not come.

Apart from this, her time at the clinic was almost blissful. Rose relished the presence of sunlight and fresh air. During her first unmonitored shower in years, the dingy sanitorium uniform vanished from her room, as did her hospital-white bedding. Her twin-sized bed was now draped in a plush yellow comforter. _Gold_, she thought with a soft smile, _not yellow. _The sender couldn't have made his identity clearer if he'd left a handwritten note. A change of clothes had also been laid out for her. The comfy sweatpants, T-shirt and hoodie were far from stylish, but they were soft and warm.

Underneath her pillow, she found another gift – a weathered old storybook, illustrated in nineteenth-century style ink drawings. _Beauty and the Beast_, she read from the cover, smelling the musty pages and sighing happily. She'd always loved fairytales, but that had been her favorite. How could Mr. Gold have known that? _Maybe I knew him when I was little_, she mused. _Maybe that's why I don't remember him, but I know I can trust him_. It made more sense than any other theory.

The book was the best gift of all. It helped her pass the time, and kept her racing mind occupied. Her fingers traced again and again over one of the drawings, one of the Beast and Belle bowing to one another while he presented her with a rose. For some reason she couldn't identify, it tugged at her heart and wouldn't let go.

On the third night, she had her first session with Dr. Hopper. She found the bespectacled man to be cheerful and kind, if a little jumpy at times. By the end of the hour, she wasn't ready to tell him everything, but he was well on his way to gaining her trust.

That night, Rose fell asleep as she was reading, the book dropping from her hands. She'd been thinking about how detailed it was, expanding the story she knew into a much deeper, darker sort of romance, when the dream began…

_A goblin face, golden with a hideous greenish cast, stared at her longingly. In the dream, she wasn't afraid of him; in fact, just the opposite. Whatever or whoever this unsightly creature was, she ached for his touch, his love, to be held in his arms. She tried to kiss him, but he pushed her away. She fell, but further down than the floor, into a black pit. Landing hard, she forced herself up on hands and knees and looked around. The room was shadowed, lit only by two far-off torches, revealing figures in hooded red robes that terrified her. The figures chanted, a dark melody of garbled words, and the closest one came towards her holding a red-hot poker. "Through pain, you will be purified. We punish your body to save your soul…"_

"No!" Rose came up from the bed with a start, clutching at her clammy skin. Thrashing in her sleep, she'd kicked the golden comforter off. Cold and frightened, she sat up and drew the comforter back over her, nuzzling into it like a child with a security blanket. Somehow, being held in the golden fabric made her feel safe.

_He said nothing would keep him away_, she thought, trembling as she laid back down. _So, why hasn't he come?_

*LL*

Mr. Gold looked into the mirror and sighed. He didn't know why he bothered. The man staring back at him wasn't handsome and never would be, but at least he was presentable. His long hair was recently trimmed and clean, his teeth brushed and face washed, and his pinstriped suit, violet tie and shined shoes were impeccable. He picked up his bottle of cologne, but put it back down on the dresser without spraying it. This wasn't a social call. If today went well, that might be in the cards at some point, but he wasn't going to assume that. She'd loved him in the other world, not this one. In this one, he was still a stranger. Her affection was by no means guaranteed.

He checked in at the front desk and found she was outside for a brief, supervised stroll on the small walking path behind the facility. Nodding, he headed outside to one of the benches at the start of the path and seated himself there, keeping watch.

About ten minutes passed before he saw her familiar frame heading around the bend with an orderly. Her hair was lighter, longer, wilder, and her eyes haunted, but it was still his Belle. Nothing could make her less beautiful in his eyes. He smiled softly when she saw him, but was fully taken aback when she started to run towards him, ignoring the cries of the orderly behind her. In a matter of seconds she was tightly pressed against him, her arms flung about his neck. His heart leapt. It was all he could do to breathe.

"Three days," Rose accused, mercifully letting him go and sitting beside him on the bench. "Today is four. You said you would come!"

The orderly caught up, and Mr. Gold gave him an obligatory nod, letting him know it was okay and even preferred for him to take a break. The young man in the white scrubs headed inside and gave the two some space.

"And I did. I'm here now," he pointed out, studying every detail of her china-doll face, re-learning it by heart. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."

A forgiving smile brightened her face. Surprisingly, she took the closer of his hands from his cane and held it between her cold fingers. "Thank you. For getting me out of that place. For _everything_. The gifts – the book –"

His chest caught. He was about to explode from the mere touch of her hand. "Did you like it? The book," he clarified, squeezing her palm.

"I love it!" she assured him. "This might sound a bit strange, but there's something almost familiar about it. Like I've seen it before." Rose's vivid, inquisitive eyes held his gaze. "It's the same with you. I feel like I should know you, but… if I do, I can't remember where or when we met."

"Well, we haven't seen one another in a long time," Mr. Gold confessed sadly, "but your face hasn't changed since the first time I saw you."

"Then, I knew you as a child," Rose thought aloud. "I guess that explains it. Are we related?"

"We're not blood kin, if that's what you're asking," he informed her, "but we do share a bond of sorts. We have from the moment you came into this world." Delicately, he skirted the edge of the truth, doing his best not to lie. "I suppose you could call me your godfather."

She started to speak, but he interrupted her, relating the rest of his loosely accurate account while he had the nerve. "I know. It doesn't make any sense that you don't remember me, if I was that close to your family. The whole story's a bit complicated, so I'll try to keep it short.

"I saved your father's life once. Since then, he and I have had business dealings, some of which he's had trouble keeping. Rather than come to me, he avoided me, and he made sure to keep you far away, knowing you were dear to me. That's why I feel partially responsible for what became of you. He may have taken out his hatred of me on you, and… I can't bear the thought of your suffering at his hands, when I could have helped you."

Even at this sparse, slightly modified version of events, Rose was nearly in tears. "If I was so dear to you, why did you never come to see me? Why didn't you try to help me?"

"Because I didn't know you _needed_ help. I didn't even know you were alive," Mr. Gold explained, barely fighting back tears himself. "I was lied to. I was told you were dead. If I had known _any_ sooner…"

Again, she launched herself at him. He held her this time, as overwhelmed with love as his Rose was with gratitude. It was more than he'd hoped for, and he treasured her embrace, just happy that he had her affection.

Rose clung to him and wept, releasing all the anguish she'd contained for so many years in wracking sobs. Mr. Gold's arms held her quietly, but firmly, letting her know she was safe and protected. With him, she could be vulnerable and exposed. There was no need to cloak her sorrow behind a front of bravery. From now on, he would be her strength.


	5. Chapter 5

Dr. Hopper pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. "So, how are you sleeping? Any more bad dreams?"

"No, actually," Rose confessed to the red-haired man sitting across the office. "I still have vivid dreams sometimes, but I don't wake up in the middle of the night now."

"So, you're getting plenty of rest." When she nodded, he checked something on his notepad. "That's good. Do you care to tell me a little about the kind of dreams you're having now?"

His patient shrugged. "Mostly, it's the same one. I'm in this huge castle, but I'm not a princess. I'm cleaning things, like a maid."

"_Hmm_. And are there other people in the dream?"

"Just one. He's the one who owns the castle. I never see his face, though, just his back. He's always sitting on this little stool and turning this wheel around and around…" Abruptly, Rose chuckled out a scoff. "That's ridiculous, isn't it? I mean, a king or somebody, just sitting around all the time spinning a wheel. That couldn't possibly mean anything."

"It might," Dr. Hopper disagreed. "The subconscious mind has extraordinary abilities that mankind is just beginning to understand. Like dreams. Most people tend to write them off, like you just did. But more often than not, those dreams are trying to tell us something."

"What are they saying?" Rose wondered, her interest piqued.

"Well, that depends. Whenever we can't make sense out of our lives, or we don't know what to do next, the subconscious sends us dreams to help us figure things out," he explained. "In your dream, you're alone except for one person, and you can't see his face or talk to him. That tells me you feel lonely and excluded. And your place in the castle says a lot about your frame of mind. Unlike a princess, you feel you have to work to earn your place in the world. Good things don't come easily to you."

"Sounds about right," she admitted, shoulders slumping. "Still doesn't explain the wheel, though."

"Let's think about that between now and next time," the therapist suggested, standing and shaking her hand as the session concluded. "Maybe between us, we can figure it out."

*LL*

Mr. Gold had finally finished what he hoped would be the last deal he'd ever have to make with Moe French – the truck, for power of attorney, and the cancellation of all debt for Rose's legal guardianship. The price was more than fair, as far as he was concerned, and the florist had been almost _too_ eager to take it. It was as though he wanted to be rid of his daughter, and his shame. _He'll stay away from her_, Gold thought pragmatically. _He knows now that there are worse people to cross than the mayor_.

It had been two weeks since his first visit, after which he'd visited Rose faithfully, every day. He was also becoming a regular at the town library, as his visits to Rose always included both of them reading to each other. Today, he was returning _The Darkangel_, a book Rose had enjoyed immensely. The tragic fantasy played out similarly to their own tale – a villain, once a normal man but transformed by evil, took a girl captive and made her a servant in his castle, only for them to fall in love. In this story, the villain was redeemed and made human again. He could only hope their own story would end so happily.

The librarian, a plump, dark-haired older lady with a pert little smile, nearly met him at the door. "Well, look who's here! Finished that one already?"

"Rose is a fast reader," Mr. Gold related with an unusually tender smile. "How are you today, Miss Withers?"

"I told you, _Mary_," she insisted, her eyes twinkling as her button nose scrunched up.

"Mary," he amended graciously. "So, how's our little project coming along?"

"The room's all ready! See for yourself." The librarian whipped out her phone and pulled up a picture of a cheerful room with a single bed. "And when do we get to meet the girl herself? My sisters are getting anxious!"

He grinned, exposing a gold tooth. The youngest of three ridiculously convivial old spinsters, Mary Withers and her sisters Fiona and Faye were a reputedly pleasant bunch. Rumplestiltskin had never been fond of fairies after a certain incident long ago, but the three who protected Princess Aurora were at least tolerable to be around. _Besides, the Withers did a good job raising one girl without parents_, he reasoned, thinking of the golden-haired girl about Rose's age named Dawn that they still mollycoddled when she'd let them. "Soon. If all goes well, she's to be released on Thursday."

Mary beamed. "What wonderful news!"

"Indeed," he nodded. "So, do you have another book picked out, or should I just browse?"

"Don't be silly! Of course I have one," the librarian chortled, all but bouncing back to her desk. "See what you think of this."

Mr. Gold took the book in his hands. "_The Lightning Thief_?"

"I know, it's a touch young-at-heart, but the author's got such a sense of humor! I laughed the whole time I read it!" Mary cheerfully confessed.

"Well, the last book _was_ a bit sad," the odd shopkeeper nodded, "so this should make for a pleasant change. I'll take it."

*LL*

Rose arched an eyebrow, seemingly bemused. "You found a place for me to stay?" she repeated.

"Yes. It's a room for rent, in a house with three lovely little old ladies. I know that must sound a trifle dull, but the space they're renting is much nicer than any room Granny has available, and you'll never want for a home-cooked meal," Mr. Gold propounded. "The Withers sisters are the best cooks in town. Ask anyone. Just mind that you don't sit in on their knitting circle; you might never get out again." He'd been teasing, but he was surprised when Rose frowned instead of laughed. "What's the matter?"

The girl hesitated, then finally muttered, "I thought I'd be living with _you_."

His heart wrenched so painfully, he had to clutch at his cane to steady him. She was finally about to gain her freedom, and she wanted to live with _him_. Touched as he was, though, he knew it was impossible. "Me? Nonsense. You'd be bored out of your mind," he said disarmingly. "A confirmed old bachelor who spends most of his time running his business? That's no kind of roommate for a young girl. No, you wouldn't want to stay with me."

"Don't tell me what I want," Rose denied firmly, showing some of the spirit he remembered from her days as Belle.

Seeing that he'd have to explain, Mr. Gold reached for her hand and clasped it. "This is a small town, dear. People talk. And what do you think they'd have to say about a pretty young girl living alone with a wealthy older man?"

His beloved recoiled, withdrawing her hand. "I don't _care_ what people think!"

"Well, I do." Mr. Gold sighed. "And I don't want your reputation ruined because of me." Harsh words and gossip might not be as painful as flogging whips and shackles, but he still wouldn't let her endure more torture on his account.

"My reputation?" Rose scoffed. "I've been locked away in a nuthouse for three years, and you're worried about my reputation?"

"I'm not exactly a well-liked man, Rose. If you want to get on well in this town, you won't want to be too friendly with me once you're out," he said honestly. "The Withers are good people. No one will think badly of you if you're living with them. I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

"Like my father was trying to do what's best for me?" she accused. When he clenched his jaw shut and closed his eyes, clearly wounded, guilt flooded over her. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that. It's just… you're the only friend I have in the world. If I have to give up seeing you to be accepted by a town full of people who never liked me to begin with, then it's not worth it."

His eyes stayed firmly shut, lest he start crying like a sentimental fool over her display of devotion. "You're saying this out of gratitude because I saved you," Mr. Gold murmured, "and because I've shown you some measure of kindness when you've been starved for it."

"That's not true."

"You'll get a life of your own and you'll forget about me," he went on as though she hadn't spoken. "And it's better that way."

Rose shook her head in utter disbelief. "I don't believe that. I _know_ you don't want that to happen."

"What I want and what you need are two very different things." Mr. Gold's eyes finally opened and met hers again, forlornly accepting. "I can't keep you all to myself and deny you the chance to live your life. That's not love."

"And this is? Telling me I can't stay with you, and that we shouldn't spend time together?" she shot back.

"Yes," he replied, with such straightforwardness that it surprised her.

"So, it's that easy for you? Walking into my life only to walk right back out of it?" Rose questioned, crestfallen.

"I never said it was easy." The sight of a tear slipping down her cheek as she tucked her chin to her chest undid him. As if of its own volition, his hand reached up to cup her face and wipe away the offending droplet. He lifted her chin and met her gaze. "I'm not abandoning you, dear. I'm just stepping back to give you some space."

"And what if I stay with these people and I'm miserable? What if I decide I don't _want_ space?" she posed.

"In that case," he murmured, unable to deny both her and himself that fully, "I'm an easy enough man to find."


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

Inside the Withers' cheerful yellow Cape Cod, Rose surveyed her new abode with hopeful eyes. The room seemed comfortable, if a bit old-fashioned. With toile wallpaper, cream-colored carpet, and whimsical fairy figurines placed carefully on the dresser, it seemed as if a little girl had lived there. Her golden comforter was waiting for her on the single bed; a reassuring, familiar sight. And, happily, a chest-high shelf loaded with books stared back at her from the far wall. She smiled with relief. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad.

"What do you think, dear?" Fiona asked, hands clasped. "Will it do?"

"It's even better than I hoped for," Rose answered kindly, relieving her hostess.

"Wonderful!" the older lady exclaimed, clapping her palms gleefully together. "Oh, I'm so glad you like it! Well, I'll leave you to get settled in. If you need anything, Faye and I will be in the kitchen."

"Thank you." Rose watched with fond amusement as the portly grey-haired woman in the red floral dress bustled away, singing to herself under her breath. Fiona and Faye Withers _did_ seem like nice people. She wouldn't meet Mary until dinnertime, when she got off work at the library, but she felt sure she'd be just as pleasant as her elder sisters.

Although Rose couldn't fault Mr. Gold for having chosen such wholesome folk to take her in, she still didn't like the idea of keeping her distance. He'd admitted that this wouldn't be easy for him. For her part, Rose wondered if it would even be possible.

In the days before leaving the clinic, she had searched her feelings and determined that there _was_ a bond between them, and not only because he'd freed her from that awful place below the hospital. That day, two strangers had come to her rescue, but only one had generated that strange tug inside her chest, and it was not the blonde woman she later learned was the town sheriff. Over weeks of visits spent reading together, or just sitting in soft silence and enjoying being outdoors in each other's company, the bond had deepened. Naming that bond, however, was something she couldn't yet do.

Despite his being a middle-aged man, Rose didn't see Mr. Gold as a father, although he'd already been far kinder than her own ever was. Neither was he just a friend, someone to pass time with in amusement and then leave; the temporary absence of a friend wouldn't affect her so profoundly. Whatever this feeling turned out to be, it was a fact that his warm brogue, haunted tawny eyes and barely perceptible sighs were seared into her heart like a brand. Even after such a short time, his closeness felt necessary, like having air to breathe or water to drink. She could only hope their separation wasn't permanent.

Rose unpacked her things distractedly, placing her sweatpants, T-shirts and socks into different drawers. It occurred to her that she would probably need money soon, to buy clothes more suitable for everyday use and for the cold. Of course, that meant finding a job, and with that came a new worry: who would hire someone fresh out of the town asylum? She thought of asking Mr. Gold for help, then smacked herself mentally for doing it. _He doesn't want me to be seen with him_, she reminded herself sadly. _Besides, I'm not a child. I can't run to him for every little thing. And I'm free now. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to learn to take care of myself. Somehow... _

She exhaled loudly. _Maybe the sisters would have a solution. It's at least worth asking. _Following that train of thought, Rose left her room and headed into the kitchen, where the grey-haired spinsters were bustling around over boiling kettles.

"Hello, dear!" Faye simpered without turning around. The thinner lady's voice was easy to recognize, as it was more timid and a bit tremulous. "Did you need something?"

"I was hoping I could help," the girl offered.

"Oh! What a darling you are!" Faye whirled round on her heel, grinning. "Of course you can. Just come right over here, and I'll put you to work making the tea!"

*LL*

As the sky turned that last mauve hue before nightfall, Mr. Gold stared through the glass at the front of his shop and sighed. Love was about doing what was best for the object of your affection, even if it meant letting them go. That was certainly one lesson he'd learned in his previous life. Still, he couldn't stop his foolish heart from watching that door like a hawk, and wishing his Belle would walk through it.

_And what if she did? _his mind mused coldly. _Suppose she did come back. Suppose she learned to love you, and maybe even forgive you for all the monstrous things you've done. What then? Marriage? All well and good for _you_. But if she were to take your name, to become Mrs. Gold, she'd be reviled, friendless; simply for the sake of being _yours_. The town would hate her as much as they hate you. And what kind of life would that be for her? _

They couldn't be together; not without paying a steep social price. This wasn't exactly a world designed with happy endings in mind. And he'd already destroyed her life once. He refused to do it a second time. Desolately, he turned the sign outward to say 'Closed' and locked the door.

*LL*

As it turned out, affording proper clothes for the Maine weather wouldn't be an issue for Rose French. Included with the monthly rent was a sealed envelope containing a money order addressed to her, along with the simplest of explanatory notes:

_This should be enough for necessities for the moment. I hope you like the room. Take care. – D.G._

Rose frowned. Mr. Gold's note was not only succinct, it was bland and impersonal. There was no hint of warmth at all in those few penned words. Had he been afraid the sisters might get nosy and read it? Or was this a reminder that they couldn't be close anymore? At least he cared enough to see that her needs were met, she reasoned. That had to mean something.

Trying not to be overly disappointed, she asked Fiona to go to the bank with her to set up an account with the money. The older woman raised her eyebrows into her hairline when she heard the amount – apparently it could cover more than just necessities – but whatever she thought, she kept it to herself. Once that errand was run, Fiona took her to the clothing store she ran with another plump little old lady, a sassy but absentminded sort with a shock of short white hair named Linda. They grinned and giggled like a couple of geese as the girl tried on outfit after outfit, shoe after shoe.

"Aunt Fiona?" The doorbell jangled as a tall, slender blonde strolled inside. Without meaning to, Rose gawked. With rolled curls down her back, a million-dollar smile and model-perfect makeup, the newcomer looked like a Miss America contestant, even in holey jeans, boots and a plain brown coat.

"Dawn! I was wondering when I'd see your face. Get in here, child!" Fiona rushed to hug the young woman. "I want to introduce you to someone. This is Rose French. She's staying with us in your old room."

"Rose French," Dawn nodded, shaking her hand. "That name sounds familiar. Did we go to school together?"

"I think so," Rose affirmed, although the memories were fuzzy at best.

"Dawn is a music teacher. She leads the local chorale and the children's choir at the elementary school," Fiona said proudly. "You should hear her sing! Such a gift."

"Nana," Dawn chided, blushing.

Rose smiled broadly. It felt good to see such a happy family relationship.

"I need to pick up my dress," Dawn said then, "the one you _insisted_ on lengthening?"

Fiona arched a wry brow at her ward's tongue-in-cheek remark. "_Mm-hmm_. This had better not be for another date with that manners-deficient Dr. Whale." She headed behind the counter and retrieved a pretty pink dress with a ruffled underskirt extending past the original hem, no doubt the alteration the matron had deemed necessary.

"Oh, please, Nana! Of course not," Dawn assured her, laughing. "I'm going out with Phil Kingston. You remember him, right? His dad owns the athletic center?"

"Doesn't he have a girlfriend?" Linda piped up.

"They broke up," Dawn said matter-of-factly, although her eyes danced. "What about you, Rose? Are you seeing anyone?"

"No," she demurred, trying not to feel overly awkward. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You should go work out with me," the blonde suggested mischievously. "I'll bet we could find you a boyfriend in no time flat."

"Well, it _would_ be nice to get out," Rose blushed. She certainly had the tennis shoes and sweats to wear, although the word 'boyfriend' invoked an almost painful response in her chest for some reason.

"Great! It'll be nice to have a workout buddy," Dawn beamed. "Can you come tomorrow morning?"

*LL*

_A/N: Just to clarify the alternate identities: Fiona is Flora, Faye is Fauna, and Mary is Merryweather. Linda is Cinderella's fairy godmother. And Phil Kingston, of course, would be Prince Philip. Personally, I thought this chapter was a tad boring, but I needed to set up some kind of realistic exposition for Rose's new life, so things will pick up in Chapter 7. ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

Regina drummed her nails against her coffee cup in annoyance. She hated when things didn't go according to plan: _her_ plan. And Rumplestiltskin's little lovestruck bird flying the coop was _not_ part of her plan.

Rose French was supposed to be her leverage if things went south. Now, her human 'insurance policy' was out of her hands and waltzing about in the world. Regina scowled. She'd have to find a new safety cushion to place between herself and that scheming imp, and soon. Perhaps another deal could be struck. The man was easy enough to manipulate if the girl was involved. She just needed the right circumstances to present themselves – or failing that, to manufacture them.

Until then, she had two points of consolation. One was that whatever he might think or feel now that he knew Belle had survived, Rumplestiltskin couldn't break the curse. This was one spell even the Dark One was powerless to undo. The other was that she'd been keeping a close eye on the lame-legged shopkeeper – sometimes her own, sometimes Sydney's – and as far as she could tell, Mr. Gold was steering completely clear of his precious Rose. Regina had a few guesses as to why, but the reason didn't really matter. The point was, he couldn't have his true love anywhere near him. That gave her quite a bit of satisfaction.

Almost as much as watching Snow White squirm.

Seeing Mary Margaret and David floundering on their own, trying to get by without each other, was sweeter than Granny's apple pie a la mode. Kathryn still hadn't been found, and while she was missing, those two didn't dare be seen together. She could have licked their misery up with a spoon.

_And here comes the bane of Maleficent's existence_, the mayor thought wanly, watching as a stunning blonde girl even taller and slimmer than Ruby waltzed into the diner. Regina could see why her only friend hated the girl. Her narrow face might not have rivaled Snow White's beauty, or even her own, but Aurora was gorgeous nonetheless, especially with her supermodel frame and long golden locks. _Hmm._ _Now that I think about it, it's surprising I haven't seen Maleficent in Storybrooke. Well, she's got to be lurking around here somewhere. Maybe as a bag lady_. That idea made her snort to herself with schadenfreude.

The girl who had once been Princess Aurora wasn't alone, however, and the person trailing just behind her instantly caught Regina's eye. _Well, well. Here's an interesting development._ A wicked smile played at the mayor's perfectly painted lips when Moe French's daughter walked warily past her table. _Oh, don't worry, dear. You have nothing to fear from me – at the moment._

*LL*

"Couple of strawberry protein shakes?" Dawn asked Ruby. The sassy waitress shot her a smirk & sashayed off to place the order. "My treat."

"You don't have to do that," Rose demurred, trying not to openly shudder at the presence of the dark-haired woman seated at the table just behind them. The image of that icily beautiful face peering through the hole in the door was one Rose could never forget.

"Nope, I insist. Having someone to talk to in the gym makes it so much more fun!" the blonde grinned. Clearly, Dawn was oblivious to Rose's sudden discomfort. "And I totally mean to keep my promise. I will be on the lookout for a fabulous guy for you."

"That's very kind, but you barely know me," Rose pointed out. "Why would you just assume I deserve a fabulous guy?"

"Because the aunts don't get along with just anybody. They wouldn't let someone shady stay in their house for any price," Dawn informed her. "If they're letting you stay in my old room, they like you, and trust me, that's saying a lot."

Rose smiled awkwardly, wondering just what Mr. Gold had done to convince them she was worth taking in off the street. Had he told them her hard-luck story? Or, like Mr. Gold himself, had she perhaps known them as a child and simply didn't recall? Whatever the case, she was beginning to understand just how carefully her godfather had chosen the roof under which she lived. But if the Withers' reputation was as spotless as it seemed to be, did that mean his reputation was as bad as theirs was good? What could the man she thought of as gentle and kind have done to earn the community's dislike?

Ruby brought out their shakes then. "Bottoms up, ladies."

"Thanks, Ruby." Dawn paid the red-streaked waitress and took a sip. "Wow. When are you gonna show me how you make these?"

"When you put on a uniform and join me in the kitchen," the other girl wisecracked. "'Til then, it's my little secret."

"Tease," Dawn jabbed.

"Takes one to know one," Ruby chuckled. "So, who's the new girl in town?"

"Oh, I'm not new," Rose offered, "I'm just… I don't get out much, you know?" When Ruby cocked a dubious eyebrow, she spoke up, "Sorry. I'm Rose. Rose French."

"Old Moe has a daughter?" Ruby wondered aloud, glancing at Dawn. "I guess we went to school together. Sorry I couldn't remember right off."

"It's okay. I wasn't that popular." Rose shrugged, wishing the cold feeling snaking across her back would stop. Who _was_ that woman, anyway?

"Oh, don't worry. We'll take care of _that_," Dawn said with a confident tilt of her chin. "Just trust me."

Before she could mull over what exactly the blonde meant by that, the bell on the door rang, indicating another customer. Smiles faded and glances turned edgy as Granny's most recent patron made his way to the counter.

Rose felt him before she even turned around; felt his nearness, warm and tender and sad, at her right. Her breath caught. She didn't know whether or not it was okay to smile at him, or even make eye contact. They hadn't exactly established 'rules' for how keeping their distance was supposed to work. She stayed still, almost frozen, and waited to see what he would do.

*LL*

Mr. Gold had never been the best cook, but that wasn't why he made a trek to Granny's every weekday to pick up lunch and sometimes breakfast. His presence at the diner was a daily reminder that he was still around, and still largely in possession of this quaint little village; a force to be reckoned with, though his hand was less visible than the mayor's. All those uncomfortable faces were a reassuring sight to him – all save one.

_Rose_. He hadn't expected _her_ to be here. Even worse, the mayor was regrettably present. Regina sat like a vulture, contemplatively flexing her talons as she eyed the only person in this town he gave a damn about. The cruel beauty shot him a smug smile, taunting him. Beneath a deceptively cool demeanor, Mr. Gold seethed.

Fortunately, his daily routine was well established. He didn't have to ask for Ruby to disappear into the back to get his to-go bag. No words had to be exchanged as she rung him up. Just his presence was enough to get the ball rolling. Everyone was happy to hurry him on his way, glad to see the back of him.

_Except her_. By all that was magical, he could _feel_ Rose's eyes trying not to look at him and failing. He wanted more than anything to return her gaze, to lose himself in those blue eyes and never find his way out again. But with grim determination, he clasped the bag in his hand and steered himself towards the door without so much as a glance in his dearest's direction.

"Mr. Gold," Mayor Mills's voice halted him. "Do you have a minute?"

"Not now," he said crisply, but she was not to be dissuaded.

"I just wanted to know if you recognize that girl over there," Regina mused with false apathy. "The one with Dawn Bryer. She looks… _familiar_ to me, but I can't seem to place her name."

"Your guess is as good as mine," the long-haired man cleverly countered.

The mayor whuffed appraisingly. "Pretty girl, don't you think? Not as pretty as her friend there, but with the right look, I bet she could turn a few heads in this town."

Mr. Gold gave her a sardonic glare. "I don't really notice that sort of thing. Confirmed old bachelor and all that."

"Well, _someone_ will," Regina surmised. "Especially with a friend like Miss Bryer. She draws attention wherever she goes."

"Indeed," he agreed, eyes narrowing. "But as fascinating as the idea of your own little Storybrooke soap opera might be, I'm afraid I have a business to run. _Please_, excuse me."

He hated using his 'Get Out of The Queen's Presence Free' card too often, but he couldn't stand another moment of her sick gloating over the fact that Rose might fall in love with another man – especially with the girl in question less than ten feet away from him. A sharp ache tinged inside his chest. As quickly as his spindly legs and cane would take him, he rushed back to the safety of his shop.

*LL*

_A/N: It has been pointed out that in the previous chapter's footnotes, I had Cinderella's fairy godmother alive when in the show, she was killed. I didn't see the entire Cinderella episode & that's the only part of the series I've missed, so okay, I made an honest mistake. Woops! After some thought, I've chosen to leave it in. The character isn't exactly crucial to the story. Besides, I like the idea of the fairy godmothers palling around. It's cute to me. _


End file.
